


Truth

by Gimmik



Category: Just some thoughts - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmik/pseuds/Gimmik





	Truth

Sometimes I wonder; what would life be if things were different? I fruitless ponder, I know, but still, what would life be like if my mind refused to wander? Who would I be, what would I do? Would I be stuck in a grey office, assisting people with how they spend their money? Would I fix computers and be baffled by art or would I train my body to be the best at throwing a ball? That’s a fine and dandy thing to think but also would I be happy? Is there another universe, a parallel dimension, where I am happy? Is my brain capable of comprehending such a mind bending concept as another me, a better me? I ask myself this as I sit in front of a computer screen absorbed by brain rot because maybe if I keep watching the useless content then it’ll stop screaming at me and I can, for once, feel contented, nay, relaxed in my own skin.

In another world, does my body not feel pain and are my emotions proper and correct? I wonder, is this world real? Or am I just an imagination from a dark and diseased writer’s brain trying to think of the next way to punish his protagonist because the audience just loves an underdog. Things hardly seem random, that’s what we’re told it’s supposed to be by the scientists and nihilists who say that there is no point to our existence so make what you will and love you you love.

I do love, I think, I really do. But at the same time, do I? It’s a complicated thing, really, because we’re always thinking that we need to be deserving of everything, including love, but no one really can “deserve” love. Love is a choice, you choose to love and I do choose to do so. But still, in all this chaos, I still think I don’t deserve to be loved. Or is that just what the writer wants me to think? I am the protagonist of a sad story that I can’t fathom the point of, one where I’m trapped in a box yearning for someone to just touch me and for the voice of someone who isn’t the same people I’ve been seeing for the past ten  _ fucking months _ . 

What’s the point of this other life that I am destined to live out in the space of someone else, I ask, what’s the point of this body that aches and pains and this brain that demands everyone love themselves but is adamant in its belief, all knowing as it is, that it does not? Rage is a suitable substitute for sadness in these circumstances. There is no writer, there is no “point”, there is no fairness and there is no deserving of anything. There is only selfishness and stupidity and an incandescent anger that pushes me forward because I am not deserving of the praise and love so I have to fucking prove that I am to everyone. Or is it just me?

I think about god and how unfair this life is. I think about all I have and how it could always be worse. But if I’ve got it so good and I’m loved by so many then why can’t I just love myself? Why is it so hard with everything that is accomplished? With every word written down, stained with blood, sweat and tears, and every thought produced from a broken machine, all too fond of fabricating these false other worlds where I am the villain of the story who dies alone and unloved at the end, why is it so hard to imagine a world where things are truly as they seem?

Truth is, I’m tired and hurting and just so damn  _ angry _ all the time. Truth is, this is a world where people don’t ask what’s important, they just do what they think is important. This is a world where caring about your fellow man is heralded as a saintly action that should be praised and caring about yourself is a narcissistic and disgusting action that makes you a terrible person. 

Truth is, I don’t think I’m a terrible person, but I just don’t think I’m a good one, either.

Truth is, I don’t want to be tired, hurting or angry.

Truth is, I probably just need help.


End file.
